


Turnabout Is Fair Play

by Jubalii



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Angst and Humor, Attempted Murder, Eventual Lemon, F/M, French Vampires, I'm Bad At Tagging, Matriarchal Coven, Mystery, Original side characters, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Some Domination Themes, Sort of a Role Swap I Guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7816408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A matriarchal society of vampires is rare, considering that all vampires answer to the king. But one does exist, and Sir Integra is going to get their alliance come hell or high water. She sends Seras and Alucard on a diplomacy mission to their home deep in the catacombs, but with one little twist: while they're there, Seras has to act as a Queen, with Alucard as her servant! While Alucard is more than happy to play the role of a submissive dog (if only to embarrass and tease the hell out his new "master"), one little suggestion from Pip may have Seras pushing the subservient vampire king too far!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ce sont mes nouveaux vêtements?

**Author's Note:** I have no idea how this one wasn't put on Ao3 yet, haha. My bad! I guess I'm still working on transferring a lot of stories over... (grins sheepishly) 

Still, here we are! 

 

Chapter Translation: These are my new clothes?

* * *

"Police Girl," Sir Integra drawled, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "I wouldn't give you this mission if I didn't think you couldn't handle it." She leaned one on hand, her remaining eye twinkling in the dim light of her office. "I have no doubts that you can conduct yourself in a manner befitting that of a Hellsing operative."

"It's not _me_ I'm worried about, Sir." Seras fidgeted in the posh leather chair, fingers circling one of the decorative brass studs on the armrest. The elder woman's eyebrow arched and she looked off into the corner, Seras following the path with her eyes. They stared a moment at the vampire leaning casually against the wall. His face was cast into shadow, but both women knew that he wore a face-splitting grin at the Draculina's apparent discomfort with the situation. As they gazed at him, he moved into the moonlight, his eyes glowing an ethereal crimson.

"Why, Police Girl, I'm hurt," he purred sadistically, "Have I ever given you reason to doubt my good behavior?" Seras only rolled her eyes, unfazed by his false innocence. Sir Integra sighed, shuffling her papers.

"Remember what we talked about, vampire. This diplomacy mission is of the utmost importance—it is _crucial_ that it goes well. And that means that you need to play your part—both of you," she amended, looking again at Seras, "and play it perfectly."

"I understand completely, my master," he replied genially with a snide bow. "You shouldn't concern yourself with authenticity. After all, I've been playing the part of a docile servant for decades now." The heiress' face colored with anger at the remark, but she didn't respond immediately, instead taking another drag on her cigar before extinguishing it in the ashtray and clearing her throat.

"As I was saying," she finally spoke, words laced with ice that suggested she wasn't too far off from putting a bullet or two in her "docile servant", "I have no doubt that you will do just fine, Seras. After all, you've changed much since you first came to Hellsing," she noted with a wry smile. "When you put your heart in it, you have an almost natural aura of leadership."

"Ah, um," Seras blushed. "Thank you, Sir," she finally muttered. Sir Integra inclined her head, looking through her bangs at the dossier lying in front of her on the desk.

"These Amazonian-like vampires…." she paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before chuckling. "A matriarchal society of vampires is very rare, I believe. Do they submit to your rule, vampire king?" she teased, looking up at Alucard. The vampire considered the question before rolling his shoulders in an elegant shrug.

"I wouldn't know. I haven't dealt with them personally." He grinned wickedly. "They have their own punishments for criminals in their society, and therefore none of their kind has ever come before me for judgment."

"I assume you've already-?"

"Yes, the information you gave me last night is assimilated and processed." Another fang-toothed grin. "I am perfectly aware of the duties I owe to my _new_ master." He purred the last word, his eyes sliding to roam over Seras' form as she sat rigidly in the chair. She scowled at him in reply, but it didn't seem to discourage the man in the slightest.

"Well then, I suppose you can go." Sir Integra waved him on, picking the folder off of the desk and handing it to Seras. "Inside this folder are copies of documents I've been gathering ever since this diplomatic meeting was organized. I want you to read over them well, Police Girl."

"Yes, Sir."

"I've also taken the liberty of compiling a wardrobe for your stay—you'll find the pieces in your room. I want you packed and ready to leave at dusk tomorrow. Oh, and Seras?" she added as the vampiress stood and prepared to phase.

"Sir?"

"I'd like you to keep in mind that while you are—for all intents and purposes— a simple soldier in my army, you are also much more." Seras blinked and turned back to face her fully, a perplexed expression on her face.

"Excuse me?" Sir Integra leaned back in her chair, regarding the girl with an examining eye.

"To the vampire community, you are a noblewoman, whether you like it or not. There are certain classes that it would be _unseemly_ to mingle with; it's all in those papers. And I'm sure Alucard could explain it in more detail if you wanted a full-blown lecture," she added with a smirk. "Otherwise, just keep in mind that while you are on this mission, you are to act the part of nobility that knows her place in society."

"I understand," Seras replied, only half-lying. She did understand the concept of it, but putting it into practice would be the tough part. She was so used to being on friendly, equal terms with everyone—it was always discerning when she had to interact directly with vampires, whose ideas of equality was based on feudal terms rather than modern day notions. Sir Integra nodded and waved her on.

"With that being said: good luck and good evening."

* * *

"What the hell is this!?" Seras screeched, holding up a tiny black _something_ in-between her thumb and forefinger. Something told her that it was some sort of shirt, but it was so thin, with so little material, that it looked more like a loincloth! "I hope she doesn't expect me to wear this!" she groaned, tossing the slip of fabric aside and picking up a skirt that was clearly over-hemmed.

"You can't complain about that, _ma cher_ ," The Captain replied as he floated lazily above her, twining around the ceiling lamp and blowing breaths of ethereal smoke down towards her. "It's no smaller than that skirt you normally wear."

"I'm going on a diplomatic mission, Pip," she scowled, throwing the skirt back and turning to eyeball the actual _briefcase_ of cosmetics and haircare products sitting on the vanity. "Surely this has to be a joke. Alucard's just taken my business suit and left these here to make me angry."

"Because Alucard knows what sort of makeup a woman wears—and he'd remember to conjure up some socks for you, too, wouldn't he?" Pip sneered in reply, picking up a (thankfully) plain-Jane pair of black ankle socks. "No, I think this was the doing of that oh-so-diabolical woman upstairs," he continued to tease. "You know, if she wasn't so uptight all the time, she'd have made a very good prankster."

Seras shook her head in silent frustration and threw the dossier onto the bed. A laminated photograph slipped out of it, the edge showing nothing more than a pair of legs clad in pinstripe hose. The Captain whistled and she pulled it completely out to look at the complete picture. A woman sat on a throne made of…

"Are those bones?" Seras whispered in shock, peering closer at the black-and-white photograph. The Captain peered over her shoulder, looking at the picture with a lecherous grin.

"I'm not sure, but that's not what I'm focused on right now," he murmured into her ear. She pulled away with a glare and studied the woman sitting on the throne, which did indeed look like it was made entirely of skeletal parts. She was a buxom beauty, to be sure—in fact, her clothing left little to the imagination. Her dark hair (whether she was a brunette or darker, Seras couldn't be sure) was coiffed in a 1950s-style bouffant, complete with bangs that hung over the eyebrows and close to full, dark lashes. The shade of her eyes was impossible to tell in the colorless photograph, but they glistened with a sensual sort of pompousness that went well with the sneering half-smile on the painted lips.

She had a round face, with high cheekbones and a flat chin, and the rest of her seemed to be pretty rounded, too. She wasn't overweight by any means, but it was strange to see such a picture of a woman whose body hadn't been molded by computer magic or harsh dieting to look skinny and perfect. The way Pip was drooling over it, she was pretty sure he didn't notice the folds near her stomach or the thick, shapely thighs.

She was wearing what looked like a looser cousin to a corset, one that fitted the same but didn't give off the hourglass figure. Her breasts were nearly tumbling out of the garment, or at least the high swell of them gave off the impression. She had a mini-skirt and a dark pair of underwear beneath, with garters holding up her pinstripes and a surprising lack of shoes.

It looked very much like a pinup poster, though there was something more or less off-putting about the photo—it wasn't coquettish, but instead the woman seemed to hold an aura she'd more associate with Alucard. _Vindictive, that's the word_ , she thought as she took in the scantily-clad sight. Turning the image over, she read Sir Integra's tidy scrawl on the back.

"Geneviève Voclain," Pip sighed, floating beneath her to look at the other side of the picture again. " _Une beauté française_ after my own heart. What I'd give to go with you," he muttered to himself, lighting another cigarette.

"We've already gone over this," Seras grumbled, rolling her eyes with a pursed frown. "You've got to stay here and watch the house while I go off to… embarrass myself, it seems," she amended, looking pointedly at the "wardrobe" lying out on the bed. "Alucard's going to have a hard time not laughing his ass off every time he looks at me."

"Speaking of which, why's he even going?" Pip pouted. "This sexy Geneviève: she's the leader of the whole show, right? So why's he getting to go along?"

"Well, if I understand it right, nobility in the Voclain clan have their own personal male servants who act pretty much like completely devoted manwhores. They go around, sitting at their ladies' feet and doing everything in their power to make sure that she doesn't have to lift a finger; 99% of them are their lovers, too. They even get a name: the ' _Famuli_ '. It's Latin for servant, or so Sir Integra said."

She sat on the edge of the bed, placing the photo aside and opening the dossier. She raffled through the pages until she found one with the heading that she needed. "See here? All about how I'm supposed to act with Alucard as my _famulus_. Listen." Pip obediently spread out on the ceiling again, giving her his attention as she read Sir Integra's words.

"As a top tier in the hierarchy of this society, you'll have Alucard to play the role of your _famulus_ —the closest translation is 'servant', though they're more like a slave in this context.

Nothing to eat or drink passes your lips until he's tasted for poison. You shouldn't have to verbally call him; the minute your hand lifts, he should be there, ready for orders. It's not above status to use him as a footstool, or have him carry you if you get tired. He should kneel at attendance when all are seated, and stand two steps behind and to your right when standing or walking. He's not above any order, and it's quite common to see _famuli_ being punished in various ways for not being fast enough, loud enough, tall enough, etc." She paused. "and there's three more pages just like it."

"My god," Pip murmured, his chest heaving strangely until Seras realized that he was trying to hold back laughter. "Mignonette! Do you realize just how beautiful karma is sometimes?" She looked up at him blankly, holding the papers in her lap. "It's perfect! Instead of being his pretty little pet, it's the other way around for once!"

"I'm no one's 'pretty little pet'!" she argued, voice rising. "I'd like to remind you that I'm _not_ his servant anymore, he _doesn't_ order me around like he used to, and for the past thirty-odd years, I've done _whatever the hell_ I wanted to, everyone else be damned!"

"Sure, sure," he simpered, holding his hands up in a sarcastically placating way. "But if I were you, I'd milk it for all it was worth." He rushed down in a hiss of wind and cold shadow, grabbing the papers from her lap. " _Any request_ , he's got to do without hesitation? Come on, Seras!" he urged, thumping the papers with one hand. They nearly passed through his translucent form, forcing him to put more effort into his shape than usual. "It's almost too easy! Imagine the satisfaction of watching the man who left you on top of Big Ben lick your boots clean!"

"I got down," Seras protested quietly, but in her heart a small seed of cruel vengeance was sprouting, unfurling leaves of ideas. A sinister grin crossed her face as she looked at the boots in question, but then the heavy boot of Reality stamped the seed back into the earth. "He'd murder me, first chance he got. He wouldn't stand for me to humiliate him in front of anyone, even if it _was_ just playing a part." Pip chuckled darkly, shaking his head.

"My, my…." He tilted his head, moving to kneel in front of her on the small throw rug beneath her feet. "You still don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" Seras frowned, using a certain tone that meant he was beginning to annoy her. In answer, the Captain picked up the photograph and looked at it again for a long moment appreciatively before waving it before her nose.

"How does she do it? How does she stay in command while the men grovel beneath her feet like obedient little lapdogs? How did Empress Lü Zhi get away with it? How did Mata Hari get away with it?" When she didn't answer, he pinched her cheeks. "Because they were _women_ , Seras!" He brandished the photo again. "Look at that! Fuck yeah, I'd carry her around and taste-test her food! She's a woman," he repeated, looking at her seriously. "And so are you." He thumped her nose before patting her cheek. "Such a woman, though you still act like a girl sometimes," he chuckled, his fingers trailing over her collarbone before she smacked them away harshly, her shadows stinging like a whip's touch. He hissed through his teeth, shaking the hand before withering under her gaze. "See? You're doing it now, though not as favorably as I'd like…."

"What are you talking about?" she blurted out, puzzled. She thought he meant wiles, but she wasn't even trying to seduce him. Maybe he just meant he liked being smacked around; well, he did just admit to wanting to be that woman's willing slave.

"If a man smacked my hand away like that, I'd have punched his lights out. But you're a woman; I wouldn't dare think of doing that to you."

"If you're putting your hands on another man's chest, you deserve getting smacked," she resounded with a cynical smile.

"That's not what I mean!" he huffed, scratching the side of his head and upsetting his hat. "You women, from the time you're born you figure out how to play yourselves right up to the top, first with your daddies, then with your husbands, and then your sons." He shook his head. "And all our life, we can't escape it. You either turn on the charm or turn on the guilt. It's a deathblow, either way."

"You're being entirely sexist," Seras pointed out. "Men can charm and play for guilt too, just like we can."

" _Oui_ ," he agreed, floating back towards the ceiling, "but we're not half as good." He shook his head. "The point I was trying to make was that you could probably force Alucard to do anything you wanted, and then charm him up later to keep from getting punished. If you weren't such an innocent little filly, you'd have thought of it years ago."

"Do you even hear what you're saying?" she laughed mockingly. "Charm Alucard. He's… he's un-charmable! He's practically sexless, at that!" He made a face and she crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "In all the years that I've known him, he's never once had a lover of any sort," she pointed out, holding her index finger up and counting off her reasons. "He's never been overtly sexual concerning anything—including me, unlike you, he doesn't find it necessary to make everything a crude joke, and with his pants as tight as they are, I've never even seen him have an erection."

"You don't have to have two bodies to get off," Pip replied snarkily, holding his fingers up in a mockery of her. "He doesn't have to be overt about it, with his looks. Just because he doesn't say them aloud doesn't mean he never thinks them, and he wears that big coat for a reason."

"He doesn't always wear the coat—"

"I bet you anything he wears it when he's stiff." She drew in a gasp, but suppressed the outraged sound that threatened to burst from her.

"If you don't stop, I'll tell Sir Integra about what you're spewing on about."

"She'd probably agree with me. The woman's as proper as anything and she's _still_ less of a prude than you, Mignonette."

"Oh… pack it in." Seras slumped down on the bed, giving him one last stern look before sorting through her new clothing, pulling her suitcase out from under the bed with her shadows. "I'll ask your opinion if I need it." She purposefully ignored him until she felt him drift to another part of the manor in order to spook some of the newer servants. _A good and proper French poltergeist—that's exactly what this madhouse needed_ , she thought wryly. _It's as if nature thought we were getting a little too normal around here._

She looked again at the cosmetic case, and then at her clothing, Pip's words still rattling around in her head as though he were in there instead of off accosting some poor scullery maid. She drew aside a covered case on the vanity and saw that Sir Integra had included _everything_ : hot rollers, hair dryer, straightening iron… did she expect Seras to be a beautician while she was down there?! Still… the tiny seed of revenge furled up again, this time blossoming into a sensuous, twisting vine that threatened to ensnare the mental image of the ancient vampire and choke him in its creepers.

Maybe the Frenchman was onto something…. Just maybe.

* * *

"I'm serious Alucard. I don't want you to even _think_ dissident thoughts while you're on this mission. Nothing should get in the way of your duty." Integra frowned at the vampire's choice of dress. It was really up to Seras to choose how he presented himself, but for the moment he seemed to have taken his new role of servant a little _too_ seriously. He was dressed in black leather from head to toe, chains and bindings covering every available surface and jingling as he walked. It didn't help that he'd made it as skintight as possible, leaving nothing to chance.

"Of course not, my master. I told you last night; I've had decades of practice," he purred. Integra sighed. She knew he was only dressed like that to get a little jab in at poor Seras. It wasn't _her_ fault that the Voclain clan was a matriarchal society, but even though she wasn't his servant anymore he still couldn't seem to keep himself from teasing her and making her life miserable at every available opportunity.

She wondered sometimes how Seras could take it all in stride, managing to ignore his many jibes and mockery with an air of enduring patience. And yet Seras acted disinterested in the cruel jokes, which did little more than fuel the fire; as a result, Alucard tried all the harder to get her to react. Integra couldn't help but liken it to a schoolboy pulling the braids of a girl he liked in order to get her attention, even if it made her cry in the process. It only made her feel all the worse for Seras; it clearly wasn't easy being fancied by an ancient, malevolent vampire king.

She knew that Seras returned the feelings—perhaps more so. Though the girl had never outright said anything, one only had to look close enough to see that she had a deep affection for her former master—one that ran deep enough for her to overlook his more annoying qualities, in any case. But while Seras might have even loved the man, she was sure that Alucard's attraction didn't follow the same path.

At first, she'd been afraid that he only desired the police girl as a potential lover, nothing more. But sometimes she could have sworn there was something there between them, something that meant Alucard had finally managed to form a real, healthy relationship with at least one person on the face of the Earth. If her hypothesis was correct, it would be quite the feat for him to have accomplished!

But of course Alucard was too callous to speak about anything he felt—even to Seras—and Seras was far too private and shy to share any deep feelings with her, no matter how close they'd become over the years. So she could only assume, speculate, and drill the ghostly captain on what little he might have picked up. They'd become partners in crime, almost; Pip only wanted Seras to be happy, and he understood perfectly well the complications that would arise with him trying to maintain a romantic relationship with anyone, even a vampire. So they both sat around on rainy days and discussed ways to get the two vampires together, each plan more outlandish than the last until his suggestions had her cracking her normally-stoic demeanor with laughter.

She was pulled from her introspection, shaking her head slightly as she realized that Alucard was still talking to her, and she was just staring off into space trying to decide if he teased Seras because it was fun, or because he wanted her attention to be solely on him. Alucard paused, taking the shake to mean that she disagreed with him.

"I'm sorry, I had my mind on something else," she admitted, rubbing one temple. "When you get old, it's hard to keep your train of thought on just one thing. Please repeat what you were saying."

"I asked you if you thought the Police Girl would be adequately prepared. After all, she only had one night to look over those notes," Alucard repeated obediently, but in a tone that suggested he wasn't at all happy to be ignored. _Such a drama queen_ , Integra sighed mentally as he moved again and crossed his arms, chains clinking together.

"Agent Victoria is an excellent leader. She commands entire troops of men each night. She's good at getting orders and expecting them to be obeyed, so it should be nothing for her to transfer that over to you. Besides, she's always been very studious and prompt when asked to learn something for a mission. I'm sure she won't fail; otherwise, she wouldn't be put in this position in the first place."

"Seras can handle it," Pip added, floating up from the attic to join them on the roof. "She's looking forward to meeting this Madame Voclain… maybe she can get me a souvenir," he said hopefully. "She'd just gotten out of the shower when I went up to the attic to eavesdrop," he said carelessly with a shrug of the shoulders that clearly meant he wasn't sorry. "She should be up any minute."

"If she makes me wait much longer," Alucard started, but his threat was never finished as the door to the rooftop entry opened and the steward came, dragging two large suitcases to sit with the coffins. Behind him, a woman stepped out on the roof and came towards them. Even though there was only one other woman in Hellsing that didn't dress in staff uniform, she didn't recognize Seras at first.

"P- _Please,_ I've _got_ to go with them," The Captain begged, a strained note in his voice. " _Mon Dieu,_ but she's something else."

Blonde hair, curled and bouncing with volume. A tight, form fitting black top with off the shoulder sleeves, accenting the bust and showing nothing but collarbone and creamy skin. The barest hint of midriff as she walked, glinting with the light of a low-slung silver belt. Black tights, showing every leg muscle and leaving nothing to the imagination. And high heels… eight inch high heels with open toes to show crimson toenails. Silver bangles, dangling silver hoop earrings, dark sunglasses hiding any hint of scarlet eyes. Long neck, rounded hips, and ruby lips curving into a devious, all-too-knowing smile.

"Reporting for orders, Sir." The pitch was familiar—it _was_ Seras Victoria.

"Well… You really ought to wear makeup more often, Police Girl," Integra remarked casually before launching into her last debriefing before they left. Inwardly she was doing everything in her power to suppress her laughter, although it did leak out in a small smirk. And here she was, wondering if Alucard had dressed up to tease Seras, when it was the other way around! Anyone who saw her, and knew her as the shy, friendly young vampiress, would have been flabbergasted at this walking embodiment of sexy. It just showed how well the girl could clean up.

And if Alucard's reaction was anything to go by, she'd hit home with the outfit. The entire she had been speaking to Seras, her eye had really been on Alucard, gaging his reaction. She knew that to fit in, Seras was going to need something racier than a uniform, but to think the girl would look so… _at home_ in it. That must have been what finally got to him, in the end. His eyes had been glued to her, raking over her form, muscles tensed beneath the chains and leather. She didn't even so much as glance his way, though Integra couldn't be sure whatshe was looking at behind the opaque lenses. He'd grown progressively uneasy, his body nearly thrumming with a strange sort of energy.

Then his eyes had torn away from her to the Captain, who had been ogling her much more openly, hands deep in his pockets—habitually, seeing as he was too transparent on the bottom to have much to hide in the first place—and cigarette dangling loosely from his lips as he shamelessly gawked. He glared at the Frenchman, eyes full of bloodthirsty rage and ice-cold animosity. It was the look that would have spelled death to a mortal, but the familiar didn't seem too worried about Alucard, giving him a 'do you blame me?' expression before continuing.

Alucard's gaze moved back to Seras again, who was still effectively ignoring both males with a steadfastness that was admirable, considering the conditions. Integra swore she heard his teeth grinding as he forced himself to look out over the training grounds, and her own grin widened at the display. She'd felt the emotions rear up in his mind—shock, confusion, anger, lust—before he threw up iron defenses and locked her out. But it was clear that this time, she had gotten the better of him instead of the other way around.

"I think that's about it. Be careful, and remember—I expect you to return with their alliance in hand, Agent Victoria." She glanced again at her servant. "And do take care of him while you're gone. I don't need a massacre on my hands; I'm getting too old for that sort of thing."

"Don't worry about him," Seras replied, the secretive smile playing once more on her lips. "I've got it under control. Pip, take care of the house, and for God's sake, stop acting like you've never seen a woman's breasts before." She snapped him rather quickly out of his lustful reverie, and he had the decency to blush before muttering some noncommittal adieu and slinking back to the attic to rattle the pipes. "Come on," she said in a brisk tone to Alucard. "I'd like to get there before sunrise." She held out her hand expectantly and he tucked her arm under his before phasing them, along with their luggage, to where the clan waited in a far-off catacomb.


	2. Tout est dans le bon amusement!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translation: It's all in good fun!

Cool, dry stone all around them, for miles and miles. The narrow antechamber they stood in was smaller than a normal hallway. The cobwebbed ceiling brushed the top of Alucard's head, and there was hardly room for them to stand side by side, though it helped when Alucard stepped into his proper spot 'behind' her. She'd managed to convince him to dress a little less conspicuously before they entered the catacombs; according to him, less conspicuous meant business attire, and now she had a businessman with hair down to the small of his back following her.

She could feel the cold and damp on the air and on her skin, though it didn't bother her in the slightest. She sniffed, the smell of dust and decay reaching her nostrils. She glanced up at the ceiling again, feeling claustrophobic. She really didn't enjoy tight, cramped spaces. Not to mention the very implication of catacombs meant that there were people—ancient people, but people nonetheless—moldering in the walls and stacked up in corners someplace. The waning light from outside didn't make it far into the tunnel, and a few yards ahead of them was pitch black as night, though actual sunset was still a half-hour away in this part of the country. She waited for someone to emerge from the gloom to greet them, but no one came.

"Well, if they're not going to send out the welcome wagon," she addressed Alucard in a way that she hoped sounded like an arrogant, edgy noblewoman (Integra had warned her of bugs and cameras hidden behind the stone walls). Alucard said nothing, as he was supposed to, and she took a deep breath masked as an impatient huff before striding ahead into the darkness with her head held high, her 'servant' trotting obediently on her heels.

It helped that her new style had given her a bit of courage. She'd seen everyone's reactions when she went to the roof to meet Sir Integra, and it had been quite the confidence boost. She'd considered the idea that she might look sexy in the right light, and they'd all but confirmed it. Pip couldn't keep his eyes off her, and even though she'd stayed completely focused on her boss, she knew that Alucard had been struggling to keep his composure as well.

The mere thought put an extra sashay in her hips as she walked steadily on her heels—something she'd always had trouble with as a human, but for a vampire it seemed to come almost naturally. She was just grateful that she hadn't fallen on her face yet, but she found that walking in the heels was just like walking on a ledge in her boots—balancing was as easy and almost as involuntary as breathing now.

She couldn't see two feet in front of her, but her shadows followed along the ground ahead of her and she wasn't worried. They were like extra fingers, feeling their way along the damp stone and sending her messages about the terrain; bends in the tunnel, changes in level, and the like. She focused on walking like Alucard usually did, completely at home and competent no matter what the surroundings. She plastered a smirk on her face and hoped that she looked like she knew what she was doing. She needed to have a good rapport with this Vampiress and her followers, or else the entire trip would have been for naught.

They walked along in the dark, Seras using her shadows and memory of the turns they were taking in order to create a map in her mind. She knew from experience that knowing the way back out of a dark hole was the difference between survival and being torn apart by whatever waited for you on the other side. Although Alucard didn't speak to her, and having him walk behind her was a bit like dealing with a vegetable that only followed because he didn't know anything else, she knew that he was doing the exact same thing. After all, it was his main job to protect her while she was in this foreign den, and he couldn't do that if he didn't know the way out of the catacombs.

They veered right for the fifth time and a dim light flickered at the end of the tunnel. Seras wanted to increase her speed, but forced herself to walk with the same slow, unhurried gait. _Lady_ Seras wasn't in a hurry to be anywhere; she did things on her own good time. The light grew brighter and brighter, and Seras swallowed hard. _When I pass through that threshold, I'm no longer myself. I have to be strong, for Sir Integra. For the mission._

When their eyes adjusted to the light, Seras saw that that they were in the inner sanctum. It must have been the central point of the catacombs, and yet… it was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. The ceiling arched high above her, stone pillars spreading out their whittled fingers to hold up the nitre-covered curves that must have ended right beneath the human sidewalks. The pillars were expertly carved, centuries doing nothing to take away from their beauty.

Sconces were placed at regular intervals up the sides of the columns, rushlights and candles casting flickering glows from the far walls, and above them electric lights had been strung from pillar to pillar like some sort of macabre garden party. It seemed that they'd collected lights according to beauty rather than function; tea lights, flashing Christmas lights, little paper Chinese New Year lanterns, and many others were crisscrossing each other under the eaves, throwing the entire scene into a dim sort of twilight enhanced by the flickering flames of older, more ancient methods.

The floor was still cracked stone, and a good bit of it was covered in the bones that were missing from the tunnels they'd just come through. They'd been stacked up into neatish piles that reached just above Seras' head, and the bare floor between them had been laid with rugs and carpets. These, too, were clearly chosen for beauty instead of value; some clashed with one another, but it seemed that each nation had its colors and designs spread out at some point on the ground, back to back as far as she could see.

The next thing she noticed was the vampires themselves. They reclined against piles of femurs, lay out on the rugs, climbed up the pillars and hung from the ceiling, peered at her through pelvic bones, or just climbed up on top of the piles for a better view and openly gawked at her. She glanced at them dismissively, trying to take them all in without seeming too interested.

There was all sorts of vampires; older ones with graying hair, middle aged ones that looked about Alucard's age (if you could indeed figure an age for him), and some young enough that they couldn't have been more than sixteen. There were women with more piercings than she'd ever seen in her life, women whose skin color was hidden underneath massive tattoos, women in bright saris, in pink Lolita dresses with parasols, in Colonial wear with powdered wigs and beauty patches, in black leather and chains, in hijabs and robes, in bright makeup with purple lipstick, in nothing but their skivvies, and some were even naked as the day they were born.

" _Bienvenue_!" A pleasant, booming shout echoed throughout the catacombs. The source of the shout was the woman seated on the highest pile of bones, dressed in what looked like a very expensive swimsuit or perhaps some strangely cut underwear—in any case, it left as little to the imagination as her photograph did. Her eyes were only a few shades lighter than Seras' and she was a brunette after all, her hair hanging now in a modern cut, curls close to her shoulders and pushed back behind her ears.

She waved a hand for them to come closer as she stood and snapped her fingers. Immediately, four men came out of thin air and knelt, and she used them as stairs to climb down from the bones. "Welcome to my kingdom! I'm pleased that you made it, MademoiselleVictoria. I've been expecting you."

"You could have made it a little more apparent. My feelings were hurt when I didn't even get so much as a guide," she replied sharply, studying her nails before looking the woman dead in the eyes, arching a brow. The matriarch chuckled and waved her hand again, this time dismissively.

"I apologize, but you didn't need one, I see. All the same, it is my fault. I forgot that I killed my first guardswoman this morning for something or other," she waved again, as if banishing the memory of the guardswoman from her mind. "So there's no one in the entrance tunnel today." She looked around at the women perched across the sanctum, and then pointed out a young girl with blonde curls and heavy makeup. "You. You're the new first guardswoman. Go." A skull dropped and the girl was gone before it hit the floor.

"In any case, I am Madame Voclain, but you might call me Geneviève. And you are Mademoiselle Victoria—"

"And you might call me Seras," Seras finished politely. She glanced quickly at the tall, heavyset man with a beard that had positioned himself behind the woman. He was taller than Alucard—he had to have been close to seven feet tall. He stared straight ahead, his thick beard giving no clue as to what his expression was. "He's impressive," she noted, recalling a bit of etiquette from the dossier. _Compliment the women's servant(s); it's a compliment to their tastes._

" _Merci_ ," she replied with a small bow. "He is Vince, my oldest; I've had him for…three years, perhaps?" She looked up at him thoughtfully. "In any case, he's lasted long enough to be quite experienced," she laughed. "And yours; he's quite handsome, in a dark sort of way. What's his name?" _Not Alucard;_ she thought quickly and then smiled.

"I don't know his name, but he looks like a Brenner and so that's what I call him," she explained, using the little alias he seemed rather fond of. She reached up and patted his cheek. "He's not my favorite, but my French captain was a little too eager to come and I don't like getting too attached to one or the other, for obvious reasons," she added with a snobbish laugh of her own, unable to keep from teasing him when she knew he didn't dare give a snarky reply. _I'll pay for that later, but it's worth it._

"Naturally, naturally," Geneviève replied, as if they were women on the street talking about fashion rather than their slaves. "It does get so boring without any variety. And of course if you start playing favorites they like to fight it out amongst themselves. You never know when you'll wake up one morning and your current one will be dead." She shrugged. " _C'est las vie_ , but it does start the day off terribly wrong."

"I know _exactly_ what you're talking about," Seras lied easily with a sage nod. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Oh, do!" Seras began to sit on the air, not sure if it would work, but to her relief she collided with a solid back and managed to sit upright, Alucard on his hands and knees below her. Geneviève followed suit with her Vince and then clapped her hands. Immediately, a thin blonde came and bowed before her.

"Bring my guest some refreshment. I think cheesecake and wine should do nicely." She smiled at Seras, her fangs glinting in the flashing green and red glow of some Christmas lights above their heads. "Now, let us eat, and then we can get down to business. As you were," she called to the curious vampires still watching them. There was a scramble and then the dull roar of many conversations filled what had been silence.

Seras had never seen pink cheesecake before, but it was brought to her on a silver tray with another of Geneviève's servants, getting on his knees to be her table while another did the same for the matriarch. Geneviève took a bite (after her servant tried it, of course), moaning in satisfaction and taking a sip of wine.

"I did miss my _cuisine française_ when I first became a vampire. Blood gets so old after a few decades," she said around bites of cheesecake. "And yet, I find that I can still enjoy cheesecake, so I am happy." Seras carefully cut off a piece and gave it to Alucard, who managed to grab it from her, holding her up with one strong, unshaking arm and eating it. After nothing happened, she took the fork back and tried it herself, eyes widening.

The texture was cheesecake, but… it was blood! Light, airy, whipped blood in a blood-infused graham cracker crust! She took another bite, letting the exquisite taste fill her up from her fingers to her toes. So delicious! She took a drink of wine, finding it to be a high-quality brand that only enhanced the flavor of the dessert.

"You like it?"

"It's like nothing I've ever tasted," Seras said honestly, taking yet another bite. "I love it."

"Very good," Geneviève said, putting aside her already-empty plate and finishing her wine, dabbing the corners of her cherry-colored mouth with a white napkin. "Let us get started."

* * *

"These negotiations are not _too_ harsh, I suppose," the matriarch sighed at last.

They'd spent hours talking over the deal of an alliance with Hellsing. Geneviève wished to work with Sir Integra, seeing her as a fellow woman-in-arms, but there were so many details to work out in the plan that Seras and the woman didn't agree upon. Seras was just shocked that Alucard had been able to hold the 'seat' position for hours on end—not only had he done so, but he could have been asleep for all she knew. He never moved a muscle. And the negotiations had been quite long; she felt dawn breaking above their heads.

"Let's break for the day and talk again tomorrow evening," Seras offered. "After all, nothing has to be decided tonight."

"Yes, that would be best. Rest our eyes, and try again tomorrow." She sat back on her 'seat', looking at Seras as if trying to decide something. Then she hesitated, but opened her mouth and spoke anyway. "You are a strange one, Mademoiselle. You are the King's protégé, no? Why do you not sit with him, and instead serve this human woman in her business deals?"

"You mistake me, Madame. I'm not the King's protégé by any means. I _was_ his fledgling, but I gained my independence quite a while back. And I have my own reasons for serving a human," she said, knowing that Alucard would find it humorous for her to quote him. "I just don't feel like explaining them to you."

"That answer suits for the present," the woman replied quietly, ducking her head down in a respectful nod. "I shall not pry into your personal affairs, for protégé or not, you still are above me," She smiled bitterly. "In any case, I have not seen the King in… perhaps a century or more, I should think. He was very handsome, I remember."

"He is very handsome," Seras replied, her voice gaining a softer edge. "And very powerful. I used to be afraid of him, when I was younger."

"Used to?" The woman's eyes glittered in the Christmas lights, the red and green playing off her dark curls. "You are not afraid anymore, then."

"I'm not afraid of _anything_ anymore. I highly doubt that I'll be afraid of anything ever again." Geneviève smiled again, but this time it was less bitter and more... sad.

"What I wouldn't give for such power," she murmured, twirling a curl around her finger. "You are very young, and I am very old, but between us you are the stronger. I can feel the sheer strength behind your eyes, even as you stare at me now. I'm no match for you, physically. You could kill every vampire here if you chose." She tilted her head. "You are not the King's protégé, but you are well on your way to becoming his equal." She felt Alucard give the smallest, most imperceptible twitch under her.

"I doubt I could ever do that, either," Seras chuckled. "I'm growing stronger all the time, but so is he. And he's got about 500 years on me, so catching up would be… impossible." She felt her smile falter. "Don't put me to the same standards you'd put him. I'm afraid you'd find me lacking." Geneviève studied her a moment longer before turning to a servant waiting nearby.

"Your room is ready. He'll show you to them." Seras stood along with her and shook hands. "Rest well, and tomorrow evening we shall meet again." The woman's hand tightened around hers for a moment, nails biting into her skin before she abruptly let go and turned on her heel to walk away, Vince following.

The servant took them to their room silently, leading them through corridor after dark corridor until they reached a long row of doors. He pointed to the first one with a bow and Alucard moved to open it, letting Seras go inside. She looked around as Alucard shut the door and flicked on the light switch built into the wall.

The room had clearly been part of the catacombs for centuries, but it had been outfitted as sort of a modern guest room. The narrow shelves that had once held bodies were now bare, save the topmost one which held a white hospital blanket and what looked like a Navajo quilt. There were lights strung in here, too—outside patio lights that looked like little round fireflies resting against the stone ceiling. A wooden table pushed against the wall held a decorative lantern, the pale candle inside flickering brightly and giving off a strange sort of fragrance. A fire burned in a makeshift hearth that she was fairly sure used to be someone's final resting place, and oriental carpets were scattered all across the ground until the floor couldn't be seen. An opening opposite the door to the room grabbed her attention and she peeked in to see a bathroom.

"They could put a door on the outside but not on the damn bathroom?" she muttered to herself, standing in the tiny threshold and looking at the modern shower stall and toilet against the far wall. To be fair, you couldn't see anything from the other room unless you were standing in the doorway, but still—privacy was privacy! The lights in here were large paper lanterns strung over a tiny, warped mirror, and there was actually a little bathrug in front of the shower.

She turned back into the room to look for the bed, finding none. There was a large dark lump pushed up into a corner and she moved towards it, bending down and poking at it with her foot. It gave way easily and she clambered up on it, sinking down as fast as she could climb. It was a—what _was_ it? It was like nothing she'd ever seen before; perhaps it was the catacombs answer for beds that could be pushed and pulled wherever they needed to go. It was like a beanbag… a beanbag mattress of sorts, though there weren't any beans in it. Instead there was what felt like a mixture of memory foam and goose down, mushy and soft, cradling her in warmth and becoming a solider mass underneath her once she'd sunk down far enough.

She pulled herself back up to surface level and looked out over the room as it darkened considerably. Shadows curled like tendrils up every wall, creeping below the oriental carpets, around the fire in the hearth and up the 'chimney' part of it, flooding through the door to the bathroom and up over the firefly lights on the ceiling, creeping across the table and snuffing the candle. They even surrounded the door, finally throwing the room in into a dim light that was the equivalent to looking up at the sun when you were near the ocean floor, shadows shifting lazily across the light sources and keeping the room in a strange, murky bubble.

"What're you doing?" she asked uncertainly, looking around and reaching a tentative hand out to brush the shadows on the wall nearest her. They twisted beneath her grasp and curled up her wrist and forearm until she pulled her hand back quickly, rubbing the tingling skin. Alucard didn't respond immediately, peeling off the suit jacket and throwing it into the hearth. The shadows gobbled it up like living animals, cloth and sleeves disappearing into their depths. Seras half expected to see crimson eyes start popping up on the walls.

"Checking the room for wires and cameras," he explained, finally breaking his silence. He turned at her and threw his glasses onto the table, tie following a moment later. "I'm in luck… we're all alone." _Doesn't he mean "we're in luck"?_ She had barely gotten through this thought when he grinned and suddenly his meaning sat in.

"N-No—!" she screeched, throwing up an arm to fend him off as he leaped at her, pushing her farther into the bag-bed. Her head smacked against the wall, but the few inches of soft, squishy material lessened the blow. She had the sickening thought that she'd just lied to Geneviève –that she was still a little scared of him—but the minute he landed on her surprise and fear gave way to mild exasperation. "Don't break their furniture," she warned him, trying to glare up at him as sternly as Sir Integra did whenever he acted reckless.

She wiggled impatiently, trying to get him off of her. It didn't help that the bag-bed had the consistency of dough, rolling outwards instead of upwards and stretching into a larger surface. Her actions only succeeded in her sinking farther into the soft material, his weight pushing him down as well until they were nose to nose. She finally stopped struggling and sighed, eyeing him in the dim not-quite-light of the room.

"Why must you always start?" she asked him, shaking her head as best she could. His grin widened, revealing nearly every sharp tooth in his head.

"Ah, my little Police Girl, _you_ were the one that started this. It's time now for some negotiations of our own."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied, thoroughly annoyed. "Get off of me." He still didn't move, though her voice rang with authority she didn't quite feel. "Alucard!"

"Seras!" he responded in the same tone, chuckling when she turned red. "You are getting far too cocky as of late. My master has influenced you in all the wrong ways," he declared.

"I wouldn't have to be this way if you'd just do what I said for once!" she argued, renewing her efforts to break free. "You're supposed—to be—my servant!"

"Only when someone's looking," he pointed out.

"That's beside the point!" she hissed angrily. "Get _off_!"

"Later on, perhaps. It's best not to mix pleasure and business." She gasped indignantly, cheeks burning. "Now, first order of business," he continued with sinister glee, propping himself up on one elbow while still managing to hold her down. "I'm not your favorite?" He frowned mockingly. "Why Seras, I'm hurt."

"Too bad," she snapped. "You never do anything nice for me, and I don't usually consider men who hold me down against my will as favorites. Besides," she continued in a mutter, "I did call you handsome, too."

"That you did," he quipped, fingers finding a stray curl on her head and tugging on it. "But the fact of the matter is that I find myself far superior to that perverse mercenary, and you should as well." He thought a moment. "I knelt in place for seven hours while your bony ass dug into my back and didn't even do so much as make you drop your pen. I consider that to be incredibly nice behavior on my part. And yet I'm _cruel_ ," he crooned, tugging even harder and making her wince.

"You are cruel," she insisted. "You go out of your way to torment me sometimes, just for your own sick amusement. That's _cruelty_."

"You don't even know what that word means," he laughed. "A little mocking isn't cruelty… think of it as helping you build some character." He leaned in, his shark-toothed grin wider than humanly possible. "And I just like watching you get mad. It's _fun_ , not cruel." He considered her a moment, shifting his weight slightly. "I think I deserve some sort of reward for my patience today. If you consider that unkind, then so be it."

"Reward?!" she echoed incredulously. What did he want, a damn medal? All he did was sit in place for a bit; he did the exact same thing during stake-out missions! She was about to tell him to go to hell and have his fun there, but the little vengeance vine blossomed an idea so devious, it made her second guess herself. It would either work perfectly to her advantage or… she'd be in very big trouble and Sir Integra was oceans away, unable to help. Still, what was life without a little risk-taking?

"You want a reward? Alright then, I'll give you one." She braced herself and then used the doughy bag-bed to her advantage, throwing his weight off-balance so that she could flip them both. He landed on his back with a grunt, sinking into the bed, and she pushed him down before he could right himself. In the back of her mind, the little voice in her head was blithely reminding her of Pip's words, but she waved them off with a mental shrug. So what if she was trying to charm the un-charmable? It didn't mean that she couldn't try.

She flicked her fingers out and slipped the buttons free of his white shirt, revealing his pale skin to her perusal. Stopping to examine the expanse of lean muscle before her, she moved some of his still-long hair out of her way, brushing it back gently. He watched her in puzzlement, the slow smile creeping its way back across his face.

"I don't think—" Whatever he was about to say was cut off as she grazed her long nails down his flesh, leaving thin red welts in her wake. His eyes widened and he bit the inside of his cheek with a low growl, arching up at the last moment.

"I appreciate your _cooperation_ ," she purred viciously, bent over him like a vulture as she watched his reaction. She'd just meant to hurt him a bit, to punish him the same way he used to do to her when she was being a bad, obstinate little fledgling; he always seemed to enjoy smacking her on the back of the head, or digging his nails into her arm (somehow it still hurt, even through the gloves).

But he actually _liked_ it; well, no skin off her nose. Her plan changed in the blink of an eye, but she didn't even break stride. She redoubled her efforts, pressing down as hard as she dared. She broke the skin above his abdomen with her pinkie and a drop of blood welled up on his skin. _I can't believe I'm about to do this_ , she thought as she bent down and licked it up quickly, feeling the muscle tense beneath her tongue. She laughed softly, her breath wafting over his skin and she heard his teeth snap together, a groan reverberating in his chest.

"Well, that's your reward," she announced in a brisk manner as she climbed off of him, businesslike once more. There was a moment of silence, his face locked in an expression of disbelief, and then an earsplitting rending of metal made her whirl around. The decorative lantern had been twisted and bent, as though a pair of invisible hands had picked it up and wrung it like a chicken's neck. He leaned up on the bed, teeth bared, and she regarded him cooly.

"Don't be angry with me," she sneered. "After all, it's only a bit of _fun_."


	3. Les hommes veulent qu'un amour torturant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translation: Boys only want love if it's torture

_Damn her… damn her to hell!_

Alucard still sat on the strange bed, not bothering to close his shirt. To the outside eye, he seemed to be occupied with a book he'd procured out of nowhere, but in reality he stared at the page without really seeing it, his mind working overtime but only able to process variations of one phrase. _Damn that girl!_

How dare she toy with him?! She knew good and well who he was, and she didn't seem to care; teasing him all night long only to run off at the last minute like some sort of... tart! He licked the inside of his cheek, still tasting blood, and snarled quietly. Looking up as he forcefully turned a page, he glared at the door to the bathroom. He could hear water running. She'd used her shadows to make an opaque curtain across the open threshold; he could have ripped through it like paper, but he didn't even want to _look_ at her right now.

Why had she become like this all of a sudden? He couldn't understand it; staring down at the letters until they swam together on the page, he tried to think back for some sort of sign that this little—whatever it was—had been on her mind. It was harder now; back when she'd been his servant, he could have just sorted through her thoughts and found out what she planned. And while he could _technically_ do that now, he did have common sense and a measure of respect for her privacy. However, the sudden change might make enough of a plausible excuse for delving into her subconscious again….

It was true that she'd gotten cheekier as of late, becoming flippant and matching his wits when it came to their usual banter. But she had never went this far; that mercenary in her mind must have corrupted her far worse than his master ever could. And yet—damn her—he _liked it_ , and she knew he did. He could see it in her eyes, in her smug expression as she loomed above him in the semi-darkness.

He looked down at the thin scratches, debating on whether to leave them there or just let his powers seal the wounds. The latter finally won in his mind and with a flare of shadow the skin was smooth and pale once more, save for a smear of blood that she'd missed. He licked his thumb and rubbed it away with a frown, hearing an ear-shattering note as her ungodly singing reached a new pitch from the depths of the bathroom.

He winced; the worst part was that he knew she wasn't doing it out of spite. She always sang in the shower. Her latest 'symphonic masterpiece' was a French ditty the mercenary must have taught her. She sang with a horrible accent, but he managed to catch enough to know that the song lamented the tale of a gun-for-hire whose targets stormed the house when he wasn't home and killed his wife, and how the man sought revenge on all who wronged him before committing suicide. A tragic romance, indeed; even more tragic that she managed to botch the entirety of the French language as she crooned about stabbing a man's eyes out and tearing through his brain with a piece of wood.

Thankfully the man drank poison and died in the throes of agony in the last stanza, and her song was finished with one last warbling note as the water shut off. He turned back to his book, burying his nose in it in an effort to shut her out. It really wouldn't do any good to think too hard about her; she'd just infuriate him and then he'd end up taking his frustration out on her. It was bad enough that he was forced to submit himself to endless drudgery as her servant while they stayed here, but—

"Hey! Where's my suitcase!?" she called out to him, breaking his mental musings and reminding him that their luggage was still within the confines of his shadows for safekeeping. He didn't trust a soul with his coffin or hers, no matter if they were being diplomatic or not. Something about this place set him on edge, and he'd learned long ago that instincts were there for a reason.

He heard her yelp as he commanded his shadows to spit out her suitcase with enough force to put a human in the hospital. _I hope it hits her in the head_ , he thought maliciously as he turned another page. She must have caught it, though, for there was no telltale crash and she didn't come out screaming. Instead, he heard a zipper and then the sound of clothes being tossed about, followed by the loud whirring of a hair dryer. He was just managing to put his thoughts aside and read more than one sentence when she came out, the shadows dissipating from the door with a soft sound not unlike that of falling snow.

He glanced up quickly, meaning to dismiss her without a word being spoken, but once he caught sight of her he found it hard to look away. She wasn't dressed in her normal sleep-clothes, which were composed of long pants and a long-sleeved shirt that buttoned up the front. Instead she wore a thin, gray sleeveless top and black shorts that were altogether _much_ too short, riding up her thighs and giving her the illusion of very long legs.

"Those aren't your usual clothes," he barked, his anger coming back tenfold. Was she intent on tempting him this entire time? The sight of her clad in such scanty strips of cloth was now branded onto his consciousness, not to be forgotten anytime soon. She frowned at his tone, her mouth twisting to one side. The absence of makeup was noticeable on her now that he'd seen her with dark red lips and black-rimmed eyes, but it didn't take away from the overall effect in the slightest.

"And? Sir Integra told me not to bring my pajamas. I couldn't go against orders," she replied snappily, as if accusing him of suggesting that she defect. "If you have a problem with that…" she trailed off, watching him intently for a moment. "Or maybe you _don't_ have a problem with that," she amended, following his gaze to her bared thighs. "I suppose you see something you like?" she asked teasingly, walking towards him with that same infuriating smile she had given him up on the roof earlier that evening. The smile was what angered him the most—it was a silent cry of 'I know what you're about, and I know you can't do a damn thing about it, either. I hold the power here, and I'm all too aware of it.' He _hated_ that look, especially coming from her.

He could handle it when his master grinned at him that way when she ordered him around, but for his former servant to dare assume superiority and look _down_ on him? He wanted to shake her until her teeth chattered… well, either that, or throw her against the wall and kiss her senseless. And both were looking to be very plausible options if she kept flaunting herself around him like this.

He stood up, tossing his book on the table and stalking past her into the bathroom, his own shadows forming an impenetrable door of dark, murky steel against her and her damned legs. He heard her triumphant giggle and grit his teeth, just _knowing_ that she was chalking it up as a personal victory. Something had to be done about it, but first, he needed a shower. He walked across the room, kicking aside her suitcase with a snarl and looking at the fogged mirror.

The entire room smelled of steam and _her_ , the scent of her body mingling with the thick fragrance of the flowery soap the shower had been stocked with. He breathed it in deeply, the aroma stirring something deep and primal in his chest, and swallowed hard.

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to come in here after all.

* * *

 _Mignonette, you didn't!_ Pip cackled loudly in her mind, sounding more like a girlfriend on the other end of a hot gossip session than her old comrade and favorite specter. _You're really telling me that you_ _ **sat**_ _on him?_

 _I didn't have a choice,_ Seras replied gleefully, flipping through the pages of Alucard's book. He'd thrown it aside when he'd stalked into the bathroom, finally angry enough to separate himself from her willingly. Deep down, she knew that she ought not to badger him like that—he was probably one wrong word from maiming her and stringing her up along with those crazy Christmas lights out in the main chamber. But it was just too damn funny to tease him like that, and the situation was _perfect_ ; he didn't dare get too loud and alert the other vampires to their ruse. _He wasn't the most comfortable seat in the world, but it was either that or some poor guy's bones._

 _Ha! Still, it's too good,_ he snickered. _Can I tell the boss? She'll get a big kick out of it, too._

 _Absolutely not!_ Seras exclaimed, sitting up and letting the book fall to her lap. It was in another language anyway; she couldn't make heads or tails of the contents. _If you tell her, and he gets wind that I told_ _ **you**_ _, he'll rip me to shreds! Anything I tell you is in confidence unless I say otherwise, got it?_

 _Yeah, sure_ , was his dismissive retort. She could see him in her mind's eye, shrugging his shoulders as he lit a cigarette. _Whatever you say. Where is the bastard now? He's not pestering you, is he?_

 _He's in the bathroom. He ran in there after getting mad because I didn't bring my usual pajamas. I'm wearing what Sir Integra packed for me—I'm starting to think this whole trip is just for her own amusement. I'd never wear this type of stuff usually. I don't know what's gotten into her._ She looked with a pursed frown at her too-short shorts, tugging absently on the hem as if they would expand by magic to cover her thighs.

 _She's just fucking with you, I'm sure._ He stifled a laugh at her expense. _I told you that she'd be a great prankster if she wasn't so uptight. Do you know that she singlehandedly chased that Vatican man out of the house today and threatened to give him a matching scar on the other side of his face? All because the edge of his boot was two or three inches over the line of the foyer._

 _She_ _ **did**_ _warn him that if he stepped out of the foyer next time he came by, she was going to make him pay for it_ , she responded with an apathetic shrug. She was used to dealing with Sir Integra's strange ideas of crime and punishment, as well as her cockamamie views on how to keep people in line. Seras honestly didn't care if they were Vatican, English, or merpeople from the bottom of the sea. She just did as she was told and turned a blind eye to the rest, leaving the human problems to the human people.

 _It was fun to watch. Those boys were standing there at the foot of the stairs, just staring with their mouths open. She turned around and made them practice an extra hour for being cowardly and not helping an elderly lady defend her home from 'Papist barbarians'._ He chuckled quietly, the sound somewhat delayed and echoing as it bridged the distance between their minds.

 _It does sound like something she'd do_. They shared another laugh and then lapsed into silence, Seras tapping her fingers on the book's hard cover while she listened to him exhale smoke.

 _So… what_ _ **did**_ _she send you to sleep in?_ He asked, and she just knew he was imagining her with a wide grin etched on his face. _Do you mind sending me a mental picture of it?_

 _What does it matter to you!?_ she snapped, cheeks burning. _You can't get off on it anyhow_. Many years ago, she'd have been mortified to hear herself talking in such a way to a guy. But then again, when you share your home with a fleet of grown men and a part of your mind with a sleazebag Frenchman who didn't understand boundaries, it was easy to get over any stipulations.

 _So? Just because I don't have a garden doesn't mean I can't admire the flowers._ She thought through his meaning and scoffed.

 _That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life,_ she told him point-blank. _If you want to look at women's nightclothes, buy a magazine; or do one better and haunt Sir Integra's closet for a few days. Think up some better allusions while you're in there._

 _Don't get mad at me!_ He argued, immediately on the defensive and saying nothing about her idea of being in their boss's closet. Knowing him, he'd probably done such a thing when the woman was younger and just never told anyone about it. _It's not_ _ **my**_ _fault that your little boyfriend likes the thought of you being a dominatrix. Tell me, how often has he worn the red coat today?_ he sneered.

 _Not at all!_ she hissed back, wishing that he were here so that she could smack him one good time with her shadows. Sometimes he annoyed the piss out of her; he just didn't know when to let up! He was like a bullying older brother, tormenting her and laughing about the fact that she was powerless to stop him. _Go away if you're going to act like that._

 _I'm leaving anyway; the_ _ **real**_ _dominatrix wants to see me in her office. I bet she's got something for me to ferry upstairs for her, just because she doesn't want to get up and walk after chasing that man down the stairs._ His voice took on a more solemn tone. _You take care, okay? I won't hesitate to come down there and kick his ass for you._

 _I think I can do that myself_ , she replied snarkily. _I'll talk to you sometime soon._ He gave her a mental tip of the hat and then vanished from her mind, off to do Sir Integra's bidding. Seras sighed, wondering how she'd managed to deal with him for over three decades. He was so bothersome, and yet they were close friends all the same.

She picked the book up again, turning it over to the front page and staring at it until her eyes watered. She'd found out by accident long ago that if she listened without _really_ listening and focusing, she could use her powers to translate other languages. It came in handy when dealing with foreign vampires, but sadly she wasn't very good at it. All she needed was practice, she was sure, but it was hard to find willing foreign correspondents when most of the time you were the person killing their friends and family each night.

Could she do the same thing with reading, perhaps? It would be much easier to get ahold of foreign manuscripts, and she tried her hardest to focus-but-not-focus on the paper. The letters squirmed around on the page as her eyes tried to obey her brain, but they were no closer to being English, or at least legible, than they were before. _Oh well; so much for trying._

She put the book back on the table where she'd found it, tilting her head and trying to hear anything coming from the bathroom. It was quiet as the grave in there; feeling bold, she snuck up to the thick shadows coating the door and pressed her ear against them, hoping to hear the sound of water running, at the least. For all she knew, he was just in there brooding, but that wasn't like him. He'd usually just brood in the same room she was in, but this wasn't a usual case. The cool air of the catacombs on her exposed legs reminded her of that fact.

Her face sunk into the shadow, which only gave way a little and didn't try to suck her in like the ones surrounding the outer walls had. She listened in vain; no sound escaped the impermeable murkiness, or even came muffled through the walls. Whatever he was doing, he was either being _very_ quiet or had perfected a new type of soundproof powers.

She huffed in annoyance and reluctantly spread back out on the squishy bed-bag, staring at the ceiling for lack of anything better to do. She should have though ahead like him and brought a book to read; she hadn't anticipated this downtime, with no television to watch. She highly doubted Alucard would be in a talking mood, so conversation was out of the question too.

She stayed lost in her own thoughts until the doorway to the bathroom burst open as though someone inside had kicked it. She jumped in surprise, brow furrowing as she looked to see what the problem was. She couldn't see anything wrong with him other than his attitude; his hair was short once more and stood out around his face in a tangled, unkempt mess. He wore the same thing he'd been wearing earlier, _sans_ boots, his shirt still gaping open as if daring her to even look.

She did—quite appreciatively in fact—all the while fighting the urge to lick her lips as the memory of his taste came back to the front of her mouth. What was it, that all she had to do was see the open collar of his shirt and immediately she began to yearn for a taste of his blood? It had to be some sort of vampire thing, but she didn't feel that way about all the shirtless men that had been wandering about with the ladies in the catacombs. Yet here she was, acting like a cat in heat the minute he even walked into the room.

"I haven't called Sir Integra yet," she informed him, trying to sound placating. It was worth playing nice with him if this was all the company she was going to have. Who knew how long Geneviève would try to drag these negotiations on? Besides, even if she did want to bite him, he wouldn't be giving her a grand opportunity like the one she had earlier. He was anything if not adaptable, and she knew he'd be watching her more closely from now on. "I thought you might want to take care of that; I don't even have signal down here, I don't think."

There was no answer, but she knew he had heard her. He picked up his book and sat in the wooden chair, flipping it open and pointedly ignoring the warped lantern still sitting less than a foot from his elbow. She cleared her throat pointedly, but the only movement he made was to turn a page. She let out a deep breath, trying to keep from sighing.

"You're just going to be mad all day then?" she asked. Still no answer, and she grunted in annoyance at his immature behavior. _Six centuries old… more like six years old._ She found her lip trembling in the beginning of a pout and forced her face to take on an unconcerned air, as if she didn't care one whit whether he stayed mad or not. "Fine." She spread out onto the bed, taking up as much space as was physically possible. "Sleep on the table for all I care." _The jerk._ Another turn of the page; the crackle of the ancient paper was the only sound in the room.

She turned over onto her stomach, punching the bed-bag into a good position and burying her face into it. When one didn't have to breathe, it was nice to sleep facedown sometimes. Especially when the bane of your existence was reading and probably wouldn't turn the lights off even if you asked nicely.

* * *

She woke up all at once, confused by the warm body beneath her arm and confused as to why she needed to wake. Her instincts screamed and her eyes opened, flipping quick as a flash and jerking up just in time to avoid a silver blade. It slammed into the bed-bag and ripped a clean hole in the space her heart had been no less than two seconds before. She scrambled to her feet, the lights flickering on as a slam rattled the stones in the wall.

She blinked against the onslaught of light to see Alucard holding the would-be assassin up to the wall by his throat. She blinked at the man while kicked out feebly at Alucard, clawing at the hand crushing his windpipe. The entire thing hadn't taken more than ten or eleven seconds at most, but somehow the blade had managed to nick the ancient vampire's cheek and she saw a thin trail of blood running down his jaw.

The man was unarmed save for the blade, and she didn't recognize him from the multitude in the catacombs. He was dark-skinned, with thick, corded muscles and a stocky form. Not the type that would usually take an assassin's profession. It would be hard for him to hide anywhere. His mauve eyes flitted between her and his captor, a silent snarl twisting his thin lips as he fought in vain against the gloved hand pressing him into the aged stone.

Now that the general shock had faded, a very Integra-esque fury filled her veins and made her limbs shake with rage. She snarled loud enough that Alucard turned his attention from the man to her, looking her over quickly for injuries. She pulled down the tank-top, which had rode up her stomach in her sleep, and stormed for the door. Her shadows grew and lashed out from her body, moving in their own silent wind as her anger fanned them. She stood in the hall, jerking her head at Alucard.

"Bring him out here," she hissed, glaring daggers at the man. Alucard obeyed silently, pulling the shadows from the room with him as he moved to stand in the threshold, one hand holding the man down on his knees. Seras watched him, wondering how the assassin had managed to get past Alucard's shadows in the first place. On that note, why hadn't Alucard woken and dealt with the intruder before he'd tried to put a hole in her chest with a sword? But there would be plenty of time to figure that out later. At the moment, she had a persona to uphold and a vindictive anger to take out on an unsuspecting coven.

"Leave that cut," she ordered Alucard, pointing to his cheek. He made to wipe the blood away, but she shook her head and he stopped with a shrug, holding back his powers as they tried to heal the superficial wound. He looked sleepy and nonplussed, but she knew almost instinctively that he was just as angry as she was, if not more. His almost eerie expression was little more than part of the act.

" _GENEVIÈVE_!" she shouted, the exclamation ringing through the cramped halls and echoing when it reached the main chambers. She put her power behind it, making sure that it would stay loud enough to reach the antechamber and wake up every vampire in the whole damn place. Sure enough, sleepy vampires and their servants began poking their heads through the doors, blinking drowsily before coming awake at the sight of the three standing outside her guest room. Guards peered down the halls and gaped openly, naked figures standing in doorways while others had pajamas that were surprisingly normal for such a strange, outlandish coven.

The woman came running down the hall, an expression of shallow impatience on her face as she fluffed her hair and rubbed her face, the absence of cosmetics making her appear at least five years younger. She was wearing a very pretty sort of sleeveless nightgown and a pair of tattered bunny slippers, the pink almost completely gone from their noses and dingy ears.

When she saw the kneeling man, all the color drained from her cheeks and she looked small and frightened, not large and powerful enough to lead the coven. Seras recalled her earlier words: _you are very young, and I am very old, but between us you are the stronger_. Geneviève was no fool; she knew that Seras had the power to wipe out every vampire that walked those enclosed halls, and would do so if the need arose. By the look on her face, Seras was almost sure that she wasn't the one who sent the assassin (which had been her first guess).

"I was nearly killed in my bed," she informed the woman curtly as soon as she came close enough. The other vampires recoiled, sinking back into the shadows of their rooms as if trying to hide from the Draculina's eyes. "Do you have any idea how utterly furious I am right now?" She arched one brow, her lips pursing. "I've been rudely awoken, had a sword thrust at my chest, and on top of it all, this piece of shit cut a hole in _my_ man!" She stalked over to Alucard, yanking his bangs out of the way to show the hallway the cut and the blood.

"Milady," Geneviève began, mouth gaping like a fish for a moment as her sleep-addled mind searched for words. The hallway was both teeming and deserted at the same time, the vampires trying to hide behind each other and still watch the action. Most of them had the vague idea that a very power vampiress was now very angry and it was a dangerous situation, but others who were less mature and more loyal felt nothing but irritation that this guest was outright shouting at their glorious queen. Nevertheless, none of them stepped forward to help, the innate sense that they could be torn apart keeping them at bay.

"The only reason this man isn't dead right now is because I want to know who he belongs to." Seras motioned to Alucard, who gripped the man's skull in a tight hold and lifted him into the air with a mechanical motion, his face impassive. The man winced in pain, but no sound left his lips. "I won't ask you again," she snarled when everyone stared, but no one brought forth any information. " _Who does he belong to?_ " She turned her eyes to Geneviève, who was still gazing up at the man's face with a disbelieving air; it seemed that she was trying to decide if this was reality or a nightmare.

"Mademoiselle Victoria," she laughed nervously after a moment, drawing up her shoulders and trying to reclaim some authority over the situation, "I cannot be expected to recognize every _famulus_ that my subjects own; they're only mere servants, after all—"

"Incompetent bitch!" she interrupted, falling further into her own role as a powerful lady and not a simple soldier of Hellsing. The woman's mouth flinched, though her body remained under control, and the fear flashed through her gaze again.

"I've come here to willingly take _my_ precious time and help your cause, even going so far as to negotiate with you, but now my patience is completely _gone_. You'll get no more mercy from me." She looked around at the vampires again before turning to Alucard. He blinked at her and she reached up, smacking his arm hard enough to hear the audible crack as she snapped his radius.

"Drop him, you clod!" she hissed, and his hand immediately let go of the man; he dropped like a rock to land on his knees, and she could see the indention where his thumb had pressed hard enough to crack the skull. She was completely wrapped up in her guise; her anger and darker instincts ruled her words and her personality was a near 180 from what she was used to. _The soldiers wouldn't recognize me now_ , she thought with a sense of malicious glee. _Sir Integra should be happy with me for taking it this far. It's almost_ _ **fun**_ _being this way; no wonder Alucard likes to play the ruthless warlord._

Without further ado, she thrust her hand into the assassin's chest and ripped her claws upward, separating him through the torso and skull. Brain matter and blood splattered the walls, across her nightclothes and her cheeks and onto the vampires standing in the hallways nearest her. She didn't flinch as the two halves of the man split apart, turning into ash that fell to her feet and coated the blood in a gray snow. The vampires that were caught in the spray cried out in surprise, stepping out of the way of the seeping blood and wiping the splatter from their faces and bodies as best they could.

"I'm going to be in the main hall at 7:00 on the dot tomorrow night," she informed them all, though her eyes were locked on Geneviève as the woman stared down at the blood staining the innocent faces of her bunnies. "When I get in there, I want the person responsible for this already there, kneeling in front of me, prepared to answer for herself." She walked forward, her bare feet squishing through the carnage, and grabbed the woman's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "And I _will_ know if you try to deceive me," she all but whispered, eyes narrowing.

" _O-oui_ , I understand," Geneviève answered in the same quiet tone, nodding faintly. Seras let her go, turning to Alucard again and waving her hand at the mess.

"Clean this up." Alucard bowed from the waist, his shadows curling out in the slow manner of one who isn't quite powerful enough to control them, playing his part to the fullest as he obeyed her command. The hush that was in the hall was gone, replaced by fierce murmurings as the vampires whispered among themselves, staring at Seras with mingled expressions of respect, awe, and fear.

Some of the boldest still dared to think of her as a foreign interloper, but now they didn't dare show it outwardly. She'd put the fear of royalty into them, a fear that had been sorely lacking as of late. A few of them that had been nosily listening in at the main chamber remembered their queen stating that the king was even stronger than _that_ girl was, and a new sense of unimportance came upon them as they realized who ruled over them as a whole, even if they never had to see him face-to-face. Of course, none of them would have even begun to believe that the girl's _famulus_ was actually the king of vampires!

"Good day, Madame. And do try to be quiet—I've already lost enough sleep as it is," Seras called over her shoulder as she stepped into her room, snapping her fingers for Alucard to follow her. Genevieve bowed, staring after her before turning on her heel and whispering to her minions when the door shut, her gestures showing her panic in the absence of a loud tone as everyone began rushing to do as she commanded.

Seras listened to the hushed commotion outside with a smile, allowing herself to come out of her persona. She felt like an actress, losing herself in her role before coming back out of it and being plain old Seras Victoria again. She sniffed, rubbing her chin absently as she turned to address her 'servant', intent on being a good partner and thanking him for playing his part so well.

"Your arm; did I break—" The rest of her sentence was knocked out of her along with her breath as she found herself crushed like the man had been, one gloved hand on her hip as the other pushed her shoulder against the roughhewn wall. She felt hot breath on her neck as a tongue swept up her pulse and over her cheek, shadows snaking up her body to tug at her shirt. "What—what are you doing?!"

"You _did_ say to clean up the mess," he murmured in her ear before dipping his head to catch flecks of blood on her collarbone, his tongue darting out to run across the hem of her tank. He moved back, eyeing the crimson stains on her legs with a wicked grin.

" _No_ ," she said firmly as he moved down, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him back up with all her strength. He obliged her, but his hand moved from her waist to run up her thigh, smearing the blood before he licked it off the glove, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt her cheeks burn, even as her mind tumbled over itself in confusion. He ignored her before she went to bed, angry with her teasing, and now he found it perfectly okay to lick the blood from her skin?

Come to think of it, he'd been in the bed with her too! She remembered her arm being draped across his chest when she woke, even though she had tried to make it so that he wouldn't have any room. How had she stayed asleep through that? Her brow furrowed and she looked away from him, trying to collect her thoughts. Finally a question she'd had earlier came back to her.

"How come you didn't kill that guy before he got to me?" she asked, fully expecting him to state that he'd did it out of spite, or for some crazy post-master teaching lesson. Instead, he floored her with his explanation.

"Because you sensed him at the exact same moment that I did, my dear." Her brain processed it slowly, disbelievingly. Surely he didn't mean…? "Don't underestimate your own power, Seras Victoria," he reproached when he saw the incredulous look on her face.

"You're just full of surprises," he added after a moment, looking her over again for any blood his shadows might have missed. His gaze lingered on her neck and he licked his lips before meeting her gaze, eyes burning with a dark fire. "I didn't expect you to kill him yourself, to be honest."

"Huh?" She was utterly baffled now, backing into the wall as he boxed her in. His actions were so disjointed; it seemed strange and it put her on edge. What was the _matter_ with him? "A-Are you okay?" she asked, feeling the need to have him verbally acknowledge his soundness of mind. She knew he enjoyed puzzling her, but this was taking it to the extremes. A part of her wondered if maybe he was fighting his own feelings, and that was the ultimate reason behind his at-odds behavior.

"No," he admitted, moving even closer. Their noses brushed and she swallowed hard, finding herself trapped. "You enticing, alluring little woman," he all but purred, one hand coming up to brush her cheek before planting itself on the wall beside her head. "Commanding, merciless, violent, _passionate_ …" he leaned in even closer, his hair tickling her nose. "I've never wanted to fuck anyone as badly as I do you right now," he growled huskily in her ear.

She froze, her mouth falling open as the full impact of his words sunk in. For a long moment, her mind refused to think and his admission echoed in her head. She hoped to God that Pip hadn't been listening in, and to her immense relief she felt no shock or mental inquiry from the Captain; he was either asleep or out and about, not paying any attention to her. She forced herself to remain calm, taking a deep breath and placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Heh…" she chuckled awkwardly, pushing him back gently while still holding him closer than arm's length. "But you haven't even bought me dinner first," she joked. His expression sobered, the corners of his mouth falling into a perplexed frown.

"You want me to bring you someone to drink?" he asked in all seriousness, small wrinkles appearing between his brows as he thought her words over. "Now?"

"What? No! It's just a saying," she faltered, shaking her head. Sometimes she forgot that he was a man from the 1400s who didn't watch a lot of TV; colloquial expressions were lost on him, especially if they weren't often used around the manor. "We're not doing _anything_ right now, food or otherwise," she warned him seriously. "I-I want to go back to sleep."

"Very well," he agreed, but not before something close to disappointment twisted his features. She was just as surprised as his quick acceptance as he was in his earlier words. She frowned, wishing more than anything that she could see inside his head and figure out what he was thinking. It was easier when she was his servant and a flash of thought would slip through their link if he wasn't careful; now she had to try and figure him out, and more often than not she got nowhere fast.

His shadows arched out again, covering the walls and she nearly asked him how the man had gotten through. After further thought, she decided it could wait until the evening and instead moved to set the alarm on her mobile to make sure she woke up in time. She had been serious when she told Geneviève that she wanted the culprit in front of her by 7:00. When she made sure the alarm was turned on, she went back and crawled up onto the bed.

Alucard's shadows were patching the hole made by the sword; she lay on top of them unthinkingly and immediately sat back up as the writhing shades wiggled on her skin. Alucard let out a sound that might have been a laugh as he spread out next to her, taking up as much space as he desired and leaving her no choice but to curl up dangerously close to him. She felt a brief sense of panic that he might try to take advantage of her, considering his earlier words, but to her growing disbelief he left her alone, doing no more than curling an arm under her shoulders and turning onto his side, eyes closing without another word.

The shadows extinguished the lights and she lay awake in the dark, wondering what she'd gotten herself into before dropping off into an uneasy slumber.


	4. Embrasse-moi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translation: Kiss me

Contrary to her belief, Alucard hadn't dropped into sleep the minute he'd laid down on the shifting bag of soft material; he was simply quieter about it than Seras, and had still been awake and aware even after she'd finally dozed off. He'd watched her face in the dim, shifting light, eyes taking in her frowning lips and knitted brow; even in sleep, she seemed to be pondering the events of the night. He watched her tirelessly as his own thoughts wandered, lost in silent contemplation.

A major part of his introspection was geared towards how that man could have gotten past his iron defenses. He hadn't been inexpressibly weak _or_ incredibly strong, and Alucard had made sure before he drifted off that no vampire would be able to breach his barriers while they were up. There was the chance—however slim—that they'd simply weakened while he was asleep. But that had never happened before; his shadows were almost sentient beings, even if they were just the outward manifestation of his power.

So how had the assassin managed to sneak in? He was utterly baffled by it all. There _were_ ways to get past his power; yet the assassin hadn't been a skilled wizard by any means, and he hadn't felt any sort of holy power resonating from the blade the man had wielded. So it was a mystery that had died with him, to be sure. But that meant that he had an unsettling weakness in his defenses; even as a human, he'd hated any sort of proverbial kinks in his wire. Now he had to sit down and decide how to better his shadows for a future attack, lest the next one have deadlier consequences.

He reached a hand out and brushed the bangs back from her head, fingers lingering a moment on her cheek until she shifted. Brilliant, charming girl! She was strong enough that he hardly needed to watch after her anymore; the man hadn't been in the room two seconds before he woke, and he'd felt her move just in time. She'd felt the strange presence as quickly as he had, and he'd never felt more proud and pleased about anything in his existence. What a fascinating little creature she was, to be almost as strong as him; given a few more decades, she might even be able to go toe-to-toe in combat against him and come out with little more than a few broken bones (save that he didn't take it in his mind to kill her).

Her explosion in the hallway had completely taken him by surprise; a welcome surprise, but a shock nonetheless. He hadn't expected her to kill—especially not in front of a crowd— but she'd made an example of the would-be assassin. She'd even fractured his arm in the process, and it had been _glorious._ She'd become everything he'd wanted for her: commanding, merciless, with the masses cowering in her wake and scurrying to do her whim like so many rats writhing on the floor…. It had taken all his inner strength and willpower to keep up the charade for his master's sake.

Still, he couldn't help taking the opportunity after the door had closed. She hadn't been expecting him to grab her, making it all the easier to force her against the wall. Her tantalizingly soft skin, the blood rushing just below the surface when she blushed, and the feel of her warm little body melded against his; even now, the memory of it affected him. It was as if the entire night had been one long seduction, even though he knew deep down that she hardly understood _exactly_ what it was that she did to him. He was sure she thought it was just a game to him, and she was only playing by his rules. That it was simply teasing, much like the way he used to do her when she was a new, bumbling little servant vampire.

It _wasn't_ teasing, though—it was tormenting, if anything. He'd never been blind to her body—she was pretty, in an elfin sort of way, and her curves were tempting and alluring. He watched her closely on missions, his throat growing dry at the sight of her covered in gore, the blood of her enemies coating her arms and face as she mowed down targets with her weapons and even her claws. Such enthralling sights made him want to throw her to the floor and have his way with her, but he had more self-control than that.

Tonight was the first night he'd stepped out of line and even hinted that she aroused him in any way. He blamed his master for dressing her in such delicious outfits, like the blonde was her porcelain doll to clothe as she saw fit. He blamed her, too, for her teasing little jabs. The way she'd ran her claws down him earlier that night had been bad enough, but her little display had been the breaking point. She'd toyed and teased him until he was half-insane, but he was certain that his confession had frightened her a little. It seemed to be disconcerting for her to hear that he thought about sleeping with her.

He knew that she desired him; he'd seen it time and again in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking. He wanted her too, but not in the same way. She wanted his soul and every facet of his being to belong to her and her alone. She wanted his emotions and his mind, even if he refused to give them to anyone. Her single-mindedness and willpower were almost frightening in that aspect, if he'd ever worried enough about anything to be frightened. If he gave her an inch, she wouldn't be satisfied until she had him wrapped around her finger. The status of a mere lover wouldn't suffice, not for her.

He sighed softly, the breath wafting across her face and stirring the short hairs resting against her cheek. If he could scrounge up enough sentiment in his blackened heart for her, he might have tried for her sake. But anything close to love had fled him long ago, weakening with the loss of his human body and dying completely along with his freedom. It was a shame that she was six hundred years too late. Still, he felt more than mere lust for her body—it was her personality that he enjoyed too, and the well-hidden, passionate violence her vampiric instincts had given her.

His hand left her face and instead rested on the curve of her hip, fingers tracing the band of skin between her shirt and her shorts. Even through his gloves, he could feel the pleasant warmth of her body. To a human, she was as cold as the grave, but her body felt nice under his touch. Still, it wasn't enough, was it? He let his hand wander beneath her shirt, over her stomach until he began to count her ribs one by one. She was like a drug, damn her—once he had the taste in his system, it was near torture to give it up.

"What're you doing?" The whispered question was stern despite its soft utterance. He looked up to see her watching his face sleepily. He'd been so focused on his hand that he hadn't noticed her waking. She frowned at him and the sudden need to taste her lips was like a madness.

"Kiss me, Seras," he said in answer, the yearning so great that he nearly moaned it. What in the world was happening to him, that he was falling apart over the thought of one chaste kiss? He realized that he probably needed to take stock and make sure that he hadn't really went off the edge, but that could wait until later. Right now, his hand was merely inches from her breast and it was taking every last ounce of self-control he had to keep from rolling on top of her and ripping her clothes off.

"What?" she mumbled, blinking drowsily at him. It had almost been an order, even though she technically didn't have to take orders from him anymore. She shook herself awake, realizing that his hand was farther under her shirt than she'd first thought. She shivered at the glove's cool caress, biting her lip as he made a low sound in his chest when he felt the tremor. "Are you okay?" she asked for the second time, rubbing one eye.

"I told you that I wasn't," he replied frankly, leaning closer until their noses brushed. "You heard me, Police Girl." She sighed and sank down in the bed, staring at him quietly for a long moment.

"If I do, will you stop acting so strangely and just go to _sleep_?" she asked, trying to pull his hand out of her shirt. He obligingly moved it back to her waist and nodded to pacify her, though he probably wouldn't be able to sleep at all this day. "One kiss," she clarified. "And no funny business. I told _you_ —" she broke off, biting her lip and rethinking her words. "No tricks," she repeated instead. "Promise?"

"You have my word; no tricks." Words meant little in this day and age, but she didn't have to know that. In any case, he abhorred deceit nearly as much as mutiny, so he wouldn't lie even _if_ his credibility had been worth its weight in diamonds. She pursed her lips and a small sound of incredulity, as if she still didn't quite believe him to be serious.

"Close your eyes, then." Her frown deepened. "I don't like the way you're looking at me."

"How am I looking at you?" he replied, amused at the faint blush still coloring her cheeks. She didn't answer, and after another silent moment where she stared expectantly at him, he closed his eyes.

There was a moment of agonizing anticipation that he wasn't used to feeling, and then her lips brushed against his tentatively. Every muscle in his body clenched as she pressed down in a firm, chaste kiss, and then his hand snaked up between them to hold her jaw still as he tilted his head. She made a sound in the back of her throat and then he was lost, all promises forgotten as he grabbed her and dragged her closer. He wanted her warmth against his skin; that mere desire was enough to press her tightly against him, preventing her from running away.

Still, he'd given his word, hadn't he? He gradually loosened his hold on her… this time. He kept her close, though, letting her breath waft over his face in short puffs. He spoke, his lips still brushing against hers from time to time.

"I want more." There was a pause, and then:

"I know you do." She pushed him far enough that she had some breathing room, but didn't make him release her entirely. "But you can't have it; not right now."

"Such a tease…." She rolled her eyes and tsked lightly before digging her shoulder deeper into the squishy bed-bag.

"I'm _tired_ ," she stated firmly, closing her eyes and shutting him out dismissively. "I want to sleep now. You should sleep too; we have a big night tonight." He hummed and she seemed to take it as a sound of agreement, her muscles relaxing as she fell back into an almost effortless slumber. He frowned, but closed his eyes as well and sought the elusive touch of the sandman. Of course, it had to be right when he'd relaxed that his master deemed it fit to put her two-sense in.

 _Don't you dare molest her, Alucard. Remember, I'm keeping an eye on you, even if you_ _ **are**_ _both underground. Those thoughts are about as far from subservient as one can get, aren't they?_ He gritted his teeth, but forced himself to remain calm. When his reply came, it was as smooth and nonchalant as ever.

 _Don't worry, my master. I'm more than willing to let the Police Girl be the dominant one, if she chooses. I find it adds a certain 'spice' to things, don't you?_ This insolent teasing worked in his favor; his master gave a snarl of disgust before giving him the mental boot and slamming the door behind him. He chuckled once and kept his eyes closed. At this rate, he'd be doing good to get an hour's worth of sleep before nightfall.

* * *

Seras made faces at herself in the mirror as she fixed her makeup for the night. She wasn't feeling up to being the vindictive bitch like she had been earlier in the day, but she had a part to play and there was no way she could get out of it. It was her _mission_ to be both cruel and cunning. She couldn't refuse to purge England of monsters just because she didn't feel like it; nor could she refuse this. Sir Integra was counting on her, and besides; she had been the victim of attempted assassination. She couldn't take that lying down—not because it was her job, but because of her own inner emotions.

Pip was in her mind, singing some sort of motivational pep song he was clearly making up off the top of his head; the only English phrases were 'Give 'em hell, Seras' and something about pulling their intestines through their throats, but she could guess enough of the rest. She hadn't the heart to tell him to stop, knowing that it was his way of being supportive while obeying Sir Integra's orders for him to stay with her at the manor. And she needed a little support anyway; more than she was getting from Alucard, if _that_ could be called support.

Despite his strange behavior earlier, Alucard had been distant when she awoke. She had no way of telling if he'd gotten any sleep at all and she was more than a little concerned, but there was nothing she could really do about the situation. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd never pulled an all-nighter before. It was just his actions lately—they'd been so _strange_ and entirely uncharacteristic of him! Or at least, from her dealings with him, they seemed strange. And when she'd kissed him (her actions were based on 50% mollification, 50% natural curiosity), he'd grabbed onto her as a dying man might: as though she was his last hope in the world. It was beyond confusing, and it brought up strange feelings she didn't want to think about. Not during a mission.

Perhaps afterwards, when they were both back at headquarters and were able to separate and cool off, then she could consider what allowing him to… _be with_ her would mean. There were certainly consequences to be weighed, that was for sure!

 _Be with whom?_ Pip asked, and she jerked, pulling an earring back out of her ear by mistake. She winced, redoing the earring and mentally balking. She hadn't known that he was listening in on her mental soliloquy. _Alucard? What makes you want to be with him?_

 _No reason_ , she answered quickly. _I was just thinking hypothetically._

 _Hypothetically my ass,_ the Frenchman exclaimed. _What has he done to you? Le salaud sournois…_ he grumbled.

 _Nothing!_ she snapped. _Don't pretend that I can't take care of myself!_

 _Ah, what are you hiding?_ His voice changed, becoming sly. _Do I have to ask Sir Integra to tell me?_

 _N-no! Don't ask her!_ she squeaked, panicking at the thought of her employer revealing all the juicy details (there was no doubt in her mind that, being joined to Alucard as she was, Sir Integra didn't already know the ins and outs of what was going on between them). _He's just… been different to me, that's all._

 _So he's enjoying his new position as your chained puppy?_ Pip asked with a malicious sort of glee. _Or has he devolved into a begging lapdog?_ Seras colored, but rolled her eyes as she pursed her lips for her lipstick.

_Don't talk about him like that._

_So now he's worthy of some respect? Or are you just feeling sorry for the bastard?_

_You've been hanging around Sir Integra too long. Stop asking such obvious questions. Of course I respect him._ She rubbed the corner of her mouth with her pinkie, turning her head from side to side in the mirror. _You should, too._

_No, I shouldn't. I'm not one of his little menagerie. If anything, I only have to show you respect, ma cherie._

_And you can't even do that right, can you? Go away now,_ she ordered before he could reply. _I have to get into the right mindset._ She closed her eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath.

 _Give 'em hell, mon pétard,_ he repeated encouragingly, with a little chuckle at her sharp tongue. She felt him leave her, the last tendrils of his influence floating out of her mind and leaving her head entirely hers again. She inhaled once more for good measure before opening her eyes, staring at her reflection. A strong willed woman stared back, ruby lips vying for attention with crimson eyes, hair perfectly windswept and framing her petite face, black leather jacket shimmering in the glow from the strangely grouped lights.

She turned, heels clicking on the stone as she threw open the bathroom door. Alucard looked up from his seat at the table, his book open to a different place than it was last night. As usual, his gaze swept over her wardrobe, but tonight the piercing stare lingered on her lips before he closed his book, marking the place as he stood.

"Are you ready?" he asked, the question loaded with subtle meaning. She didn't answer, walking past him and opening the door to her chambers. There was still a smear of dried blood on the threshold, where the door had prevented them from cleaning it thoroughly. The irony tang was still lingering in the air, despite the musty odor that seemed to permeate the catacomb's every nook and cranny. She looked up and down the hall, finding it deserted. They were probably all in the main antechamber, anyway. She wondered if Geneviève had found the culprit yet.

 _Well,_ she thought as she adjusted one of the black motorcycle gloves. _All the worse for her, if she hasn't._


End file.
